Broken Arrows in the Dark
by kaffee32
Summary: When Clint Barton was sent by SHIELD to hunt down and kill ex-Russian spy, Natalia Romanova, he just wanted to get in and get the job over with so that he could go home. He never expected that a chance encounter in a dark alley in St. Petersburg, Russia would change both of their lives forever.
1. Chapter 1

This is my take on the MCU relationship of Hawkeye and Black Widow, and how two completely flawed individuals came together to help save the world and each other.

Notes: This story idea got started after I randomly heard the song Broken Arrows by Avicii. Honestly, I didn't even like the song that much, but the lyrics stuck with me. This is strictly an MCU story, not comic related, since Clint and Natasha meet very differently in the comics. I'm also not sure if it is considered an AU since the movies never actually told us very much about how the two met.

Thank you for reading!

 _'Cause it's not too late, it's not too late  
I, I see the hope in your heart  
And sometimes you lose it, sometimes you're shooting  
Broken arrows in the dark  
But I, I see the hope in your heart_

I've seen the darkness in the light  
The kind of blue that leaves you lost and blind  
The only thing that's black and white  
Is that you don't have to walk alone this time

 _Broken Arrows by Avicii_

 _9999999999_

Clint Barton sat quietly on a rooftop in the dark watching the streets below. He'd been following his target for the past three days and at this point, he was anxious to get the job over with and get back home.

Getting into Russia and moving around was much easier than the first time he had to do it as a 22 year old new SHIELD agent just a few years after the fall of communism. Then, it was secret boat rides in the middle of the night, clandestine meetings with translators and wilderness travel.

This time, he was able to get into the country just by booking a hunting trip with a travel guide who was easy enough to pay off. It even gave him a reason to bring in his bow and rifle, even if both were thoroughly checked out before he was allowed to leave the airport. He suspected that the Canadian passport he presented helped insure that the process was smoother than it might otherwise have been. He'd also learned to speak better Russian over the years, which made things much easier.

He was actually surprised at how easily he tracked his target down, given that she was a highly trained spy that SHIELD deemed such a serious threat to National Security that she had to be eliminated. They'd been given a tip that she was staying at a fancy hotel in St. Petersburg as the guest of some old red faced bureaucrat, and that they were scheduled to be there for another five days. Armed only with a somewhat blurry picture of a red head, he was able to spot her quickly. Her hair was blonde, a wig he suspected, and she was dressed provocatively, likely to keep the attention of the man that he suspected was her own target.

Nothing about this mission sat well with him. She was so damn young. That was the first thing he noticed about her. She couldn't have been older than 20-21 years old. Beautiful too, but that wasn't a surprise. From what little they knew about the Soviet spy program that she had been a part of, these women were trained from a very early age, not only as spies and killers, but also in how to make themselves attractive to whatever type of man or woman they were targeting.

She was also likely in a bad position. The program she was raised in didn't exist anymore, having been shut down by the Russian government two years ago. Most everyone involved had fallen off the face of the earth, likely executed or hidden away to cover up all evidence of the program's existence, except for her. She'd managed to get away and became something of a freelancer. She was well trained and willing to use her skills for the highest bidder. Clint knew all too well what it was like to have a special skill set that was appropriate for questionable activities and feeling like you had no choice but to use them if you wanted to survive. It also showed that she was brave as hell. The Russians were looking for her, but here she was, back in Russia on some mission of her own.

Of course, the possibility existed that she just really enjoyed the work, but from the little bit of time he'd spent watching her, he wasn't ready to believe that yet. Her list of crimes was long, and some of the things that she was responsible for were shocking, but he wasn't sure that he was the person to judge her. After all, he was sitting on a rooftop getting ready to kill her just because SHIELD told him to.

Clint was surprised when she and the red faced bureaucrat returned to the hotel much earlier than he expected. They had gone out the past two nights and returned late enough that the streets around the hotel were mostly empty. It would have been a perfect time to take the shot. Now though, there were too many damn people around on the street for him to do it and not worry about getting away safely. He watched them enter the hotel and relaxed his bow, cursing to himself quietly.

If the past two nights were any indication, they'd be in for the night. He gathered up his gear and climbed down the ladder to the alley below. He'd go get a bite to eat, make a few phone calls and rest for a few hours before he'd return to the roof hoping for better luck tomorrow.

As his boots hit the ground, he heard a sound and turned to find a man entering the alley from the road. He dived behind a trashcan before the man could see him. He was older than Clint, late 40's maybe, with dark hair. He looked impatiently at his watch before pacing the alley, obviously waiting for someone else to arrive.

Clint couldn't believe his luck when that someone turned out to be his target. Killing her in front of the hotel was proving more difficult than he'd hoped, but in an alley? That wouldn't be a problem. He crouched down behind the trashcan and quietly removed his bow from his bag. They spoke in quick Russian, and he could just barely make out the conversation.

"We meet again, Малышка. You are late, and I was growing impatient," the man complained to her.

"What do you want, Vasily?"

"What do you think I want? There are many people searching for Natalia Romanova, and imagine my surprise when you strolled right into my brother's restaurant, with none other than Ilya Anvilov at your side. Turning you over to our old friends, and helping to ruin Anvilov at the same time will not only be quite profitable, but bring me good will with some very important people. Now, tell me what you know of him, and I might turn you over without hurting you first."

Romanova considered a moment before she spoke. "As far as I can tell, this man has no weaknesses to exploit. His businesses are legitimate, he doesn't drink to excess, he calls his mother, and while he likes to be seen with a pretty woman on his arm, he is a perfect gentleman behind closed doors. He even booked me my own room. There have been no secret meetings or unusual phone calls. He hired me to be his bodyguard, and nothing more. I think it is possible that Ilya Anvilov is a good man."

The man grabbed her and pushed her against the wall. "No one asked you to think, шлюха."

Clint didn't know what шлюха meant, but whatever it was it earned the man a knee to the balls. He groaned as he grabbed himself and crouched over before also taking a kick to the face that sent him flying backward to the ground.

"I am no one's шлюха, Vasily. You'd do well to remember that," she responded angrily. "I'm also no longer a little girl, and I will not sit still while you put your hands on me." She grinned down at him. "Besides, aren't I too old for you now?"

In seconds, the man was on his feet, a knife in his hand. Clint wondered what his best play was here. He wasn't sure that the man was a real threat to her, even with the knife. The guy seemed like a bad guy, but could he sit by and watch her kill him without intervening? On the other hand, could he really watch this guy kill her? He realized that was a strange question, since that was exactly what he was here to do.

"You are nothing more than an orphan, Natalia. A little girl abandoned by a mother and father that wanted nothing to do with you. It is true that you were lucky enough to be trained by some of the best that Russia has to offer, but to what end? You are still just a child playing at a man's game," he sneered at her. "You have failed in your mission. Ilya Anvilov will die tomorrow, but you will not see it. Tonight you will die in this alley with no one to mourn for you." The man waved the knife threateningly at her.

"I expect that you are right," she replied flatly, before getting thrown back and crashing hard against the wall. She straightened herself and took a defensive stance. "I have been waiting to die for some time now. Tonight seems as good as any other night." She dived at the man, grabbing on to his right hand, which contained the knife, while using her left to punch him in the mouth. Blood immediately began pouring from his lips.

The fight continued with one of them gaining the upper hand before the other took it away. The man was much stronger than she was, but she was holding her own and Clint was grudgingly impressed. She was obviously trained well to use her small size and speed, while he was too overconfident in his strength.

When the knife ended up getting thrown in his direction, Clint had finally had enough. "Damnit," he grumbled to himself, before standing up from behind the trash can. He nocked an arrow, pointing it in the direction of the two people fighting, and pulled the string back before letting the arrow fly.


	2. Chapter 2

Clint came out from behind the trash can, another arrow ready to fly. He glanced at the man on the ground with an arrow sticking out of his chest, before focusing all of his attention on the girl who was his real target. He expected her to run, but she just stood there looking from him to the dead man on the ground.

"Go on," she said in English. "Get it over with. You've done a great service by getting rid of that piece of filth now finish what you came here for."

He considered her for a moment. "How do you know I wasn't here for him?"

"Because you haven't been following him for the past three days, you've been following me."

"You don't know that," he replied stupidly.

"I saw you in the lobby of the hotel. You were quite obvious. I've been waiting since then for you to do it." She actually smiled at him. "Admittedly, I was not expecting arrows. That, you've actually surprised me with."

Once again, Clint was impressed. He had spent the past three days thinking she had no idea that he was there, and she'd pegged him from the moment he first saw her. "Why didn't you run?"

"You would just keep coming after me, would you not? Maybe I'm just tired of running."

Clint wasn't quite sure what to do next. She was right. He should just finish what he came here for and get the hell out. She was practically giving him permission to do it. He recognized the look in her eyes, though, and it gave him pause. It wasn't so much defeat as weariness. He knew exactly what it felt like to be tired of everything and ready for it to end. For him, that end came when he was captured by SHIELD, and for her, it was supposed to end here in this alley by his hand.

Before he could make up his mind, three men entered the alley. Instinctively, Clint aimed his bow away from Natalia and toward them. "Turn around and get the hell out of here if you want to live," Clint said in his passible Russian.

One of the men laughed at him. "Should we be scared of a little child's toy when we have a man's weapon?" All three men pulled out what appeared to be identical Makarov pistols.

"You all get those at a military flash sale?" Clint quipped as he kept his bow pointed at the man speaking. "An arrow was plenty good enough for this guy here." He gestured toward the dead body on the ground.

Natalia held up her hands and backed herself up slowly next to him. "You should have taken the shot and gotten out of here. Vasily was a low level thug, but he wasn't stupid. He would not have come alone," she whispered.

"Igor couldn't handle one little girl, I see," the man looked down at the body of his friend. "But you will not be so lucky with us, Natalia Romanova. No matter who is here to assist you."

"Gun," Clint whispered to her. "Ankle holster. Left leg. I assume you know how to use one." He could feel her eyes on him, but he didn't look away from the men in front of them. "So how is this going to play out, boys? You gonna let us get out of here, or are you going to join your friend?"

The man grinned at him. "How about if you just give us the girl, and we will kill you quickly?"

Natalia threw her hands up into the air. "I'll come with you. Just please don't hurt us."

The man began to laugh and everything happened in seconds. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her dive down quickly and he let his arrow fly, hitting the man who had been talking. She was up in seconds, his gun in her hand and fired a shot at one of the two men left, while he took out the third with another arrow.

As soon as the last man fell, he turned his bow back on her. He expected to find her pointing the gun at him, after all, that would be the smart play. Instead she was holding it out to him.

"See? This is why bows are better than guns. Guns make too much noise. One shot, and now everyone will be headed this way."

"Then you'd better finish and go," she replied.

"We'll go together. Keep the gun, but don't use it unless you have to. I don't want innocent people getting killed." He grabbed his bag and began climbing the ladder, hoping to be able to get into the building from the roof, when he noticed her just standing there. "You coming, Natalia, or are you just gonna wait here for the cops?"

She hesitated briefly before hiding the gun away and following him. When they reached the top of the building, he stopped to pack up his equipment, because he couldn't very easily walk down the streets of St. Petersburg with it out. He hated to do it, but he had another gun should he need it.

Natalia examined the locked door before she pulled something out of her hair and picked the lock easily. He nodded in appreciation as they entered the building with her leading the way.

"Once we get down to street level, go right toward the alley. If we walk out the other way with all the commotion, we'll look suspicious." He could already hear sirens in the distance. "Once you reach the corner, go right again."

She nodded that she understood as they made their way down the stairwell. Once they reached the door, she did exactly what he said, even stopping to glance down the alley before being shooed away by the St. Petersburg police that had just arrived. She turned right at the corner of the street and they were able to calmly walk on without drawing any attention from the mostly empty street.

999999999

Clint took over the lead and pulled a black hoodie from his bag, tossing it at her. "Here, put this on and cover your head. I don't know if your friend at the hotel will be looking for you, but you'll be less obvious this way."

She put the hoodie on and lifted the hood over her head. "They will not be looking for me. I left a note that I had to leave. Between Vasily and you, I did not expect that I would be returning. What are you doing, exactly? Why take me away to kill me, when you could have just done it there and left one more body?"

He wasn't quite sure of what to say, because he really had no answer. Once again, she was right that he should have just done his job and left. Hell, he probably could have made it look like they all killed each other. He couldn't do it though because maybe, in some way, she reminded him of himself when Fury found him. He got a second chance, and maybe now he wanted to give her the same option. If she didn't want it, then he knew he'd have to deal with that too.

They walked in silence a few blocks and he stopped outside of his hotel. It was nowhere near as fancy as the one she just came from, but it was serviceable for him. "Are you hungry, because I am starving." When she said nothing, he shrugged. "I'll take that as a yes."

She followed him to a little deli-like place across the street that he'd eaten at a few times before. He handed her a copy of the menu and when she tried to decline, he looked at her crossly. "Get something. You'll probably just get hungry later, and there is no room service." He grabbed a few bottles of water and paid for everything once she finally made a selection. They sat in silence as they waited for the food.

His hotel room was small but it had a little sitting area with a small coffee table in one corner. Once they got inside, he sat the food and drinks on the table, and placed his bag down beside the couch. He turned to find her looking around the room curiously.

"Gun please," he demanded, putting his hand out toward her. She hesitated briefly before pulling it out of her waistband and handing it to him. "Bathroom's through that door over there. You have to jiggle the handle after you use it, or it gets stuck."

He pulled out his sandwich and flopped himself down on the couch. "Sorry I don't have anything like a toothbrush for you, but I wasn't planning to bring anyone back here. We'll get you some stuff tomorrow." He opened a bottle of water and sat it on the table close to her, before opening one for himself. "So tell me, what does шлюха mean?"

She chuckled slightly. "I believe you would use the word whore. Someone who takes money or goods in exchange for sex?" Did your government not teach you these words when they taught you to speak Russian?"

He shrugged at her and took a sip of water. "No. I learned some Russian before I actually became a government employee. Still never heard that word."

She looked between him and the bed and frowned. "I meant what I said. I'm no one's whore. If you think that I will sleep with you because you spared my life and bought me a sandwich, you are wrong."

It was Clint's turn to chuckle. "Sweetheart, that isn't what's happening here. When we are done eating, you are going to go over to that bed to sleep, and I'm staying right here on this couch. It's been a long few days and I'm exhausted. My name is Clint, by the way. I already know yours."

She gave him a quizzical look. "I would prefer it if you called me Natasha."

"Alright, Natasha it is then. If you plan to kill me in my sleep, well, there is nothing I can do about that, except hope that this sandwich has bought me enough good will that you won't try."


	3. Chapter 3

Natasha had a hard time falling asleep. She kept playing the past few days over and over in her mind and nothing that made any sense brought her to where she was now, sharing a hotel room with the man that she had expected to kill her.

When she saw him in the lobby of her hotel, her first instinct was to run. It was obvious that he was there for her, and when an agency sends someone after you, it usually isn't to take you alive. Running would just mean putting off the inevitable, however. Once they wanted you dead, they didn't just go away because they were unsuccessful the first time. She would spend the rest of her life, however short that might be, looking over her shoulder and wondering when they would finally catch up to her. All for what? So that she could live on to take a few more detestable jobs from truly horrible people? She didn't see the point.

Perhaps this was better. She could die here in Russia where she was born and abandoned, only to be trained from infancy as a weapon for the Russian government. First the KGB when she was very small, then the GRU after the fall of communism. There was no life for her beyond what she was, and when the government shut the Red Room down, running and selling her skills to the highest bidder became her only option.

At first, she reasoned it as necessary. She was only 18 when she ran and she had to survive on her own. The good guys, or more accurately, the lesser of two evils, didn't hire people like her. She had to make her way into the seedy underbelly of society where they paid decently for a job well done. She was good at what she did, having been trained by the best that Russia had to offer and her particular talents were in demand. There was always another job. Always another person to get information from, another business to bring in line, another politician to destroy or another person to eliminate. After three years, she was tired.

For some of the things that she had done, she deserved death. She knew that. Things that she was sure she could never be forgiven for. The irony was that the job that brought her to Russia to meet her executioner was actually not one of those things. She was simply hired as an escort and body guard for Ilya Anvilov, an up and coming politician who seemed to actually want to change things for the better. She knew he wouldn't last though. Idealistic politicians couldn't survive in the cut throat world of Russian politics.

As she lay awake, she could hear the man who should have killed her snoring in his sleep. She was sure that he'd seen a file on her. He would know her crimes and just how dangerous she was, yet he was able to fall asleep with relative ease, leaving himself completely vulnerable. She wasn't sure if that made him very brave or very stupid. Then again, he was a trained asset for whatever group he represented, and likely one of their best. She suspected that if she made a move against him, he would be up before she got halfway across the floor.

She knew very little about this man, beyond the fact that he said his name was Clint. He was older than her, at least ten years if she had to guess, and American. That would narrow his organization down to the CIA or, quite possibly SHIELD. The efficiency that he demonstrated in taking out Vasily and two of his three goons told her that he was well trained at his job. The fact that a bow was his choice of weapon was odd, to say the least, but he was correct that it was as silent as it was deadly.

She still had no answer for why he'd brought her here instead of doing what he came to do or letting her get caught by the police, which would have the same effect. She assumed that he was lying when he told her that he had no intentions with her other than feeding her and giving her a bed to sleep in, and she had prepared herself for a fight. True, she may have entertained the idea of letting him just end what had become her life, but she meant it when she told him that she was nobody's whore. She didn't have to bother though. He kept his word and now was fast asleep on the couch as promised.

Realizing that she could replay everything in her head over and over all night and still have no answers, she finally decided that she would just have to wait until tomorrow to find out what his intentions were. For now, she came to one very important conclusion. This man who spared her life tonight made her realize that, perhaps she wasn't as ready to give up as she thought she was. What she was going to do about it, she was undecided.

Her hand slid instinctively to the corner of the bed and she gripped the headboard tightly. It was an old habit from childhood in the Red Room when the girls would handcuff themselves to their beds at night. She wasn't sure that it would ever go away, but she was able to relax her mind and finally sleep.

9999999999

She woke a few hours later as sunshine poured in through the window. Clint was awake as well, lying on the couch typing away at his Blackberry.

"Morning," he said, as she sat up in the bed.

She nodded as she made her way to the bathroom to attempt to clean up as best as she could. When she came out, he was once again typing fervently into the phone. He finished what he was doing before looking over at her again. "Don't suppose you had your passport on you last night, did you?"

She gave him an inquisitive look. "Of course I did. I wasn't planning to return to my room."

"Great. That will make things a lot easier."

"Easier for what?"

"I was about to get us a couple of train tickets from St. Petersburg to Helsinki, but you'll need a passport. The train will be easier and much quicker than trying to go through the countryside into a more friendly country." His phone beeped with a message, and she watched him curiously as he responded.

"What exactly is happening here, Clint?" She moved herself to a more secure position between him and the door. If she had to run, she knew that she would need any head start that she could get.

"Well, right now I'm trying to figure out the best way to get us out of here without getting caught, then I thought I might figure out what we should do about breakfast." He gave her an amused look. "Why don't you get away from the door? You could run for it, but you wouldn't make it halfway down the hall."

It wasn't a threat and it wasn't meant to be intimidating. It was a simple statement of fact and she considered him for a moment before taking a few steps back toward the bed and away from the door. "Why would I leave Russia with you? You were sent to kill me, no?"

Clint shrugged. "Yeah. I was. Still will if you make me." She wasn't at all surprised by the honesty in his eyes at the statement. "I thought maybe instead, we could get somewhere safer and talk about options."

"What sort of options do I have, really?"

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Truthfully? I'm not quite sure. What I do know is that you might have been trying to look tough and ready to die last night, but I'm pretty sure you're not. Not really. I've seen people who have truly given up, and they don't fight as hard as you were fighting against that Vasily guy."

"I did not want him to have the privilege of being responsible for my death," she responded.

"That may be true, but I think your survival instinct kicked in and you realized that you weren't ready to check out quite yet. Same reason that you left with me to get away from that alley before the police came."

"Even if that were true, why would I come with you now? The CIA will expect you to complete your mission, and I doubt that you are going to let me go once we are safely out of Russia."

He actually grinned at her. "Nice try. I'm not with the CIA. I'm SHEILD."

She shrugged at him. "I had a 50/50 chance. Fine. SHIELD will expect you to complete your mission. What reason would I have to go with you now?"

"Because maybe I'm offering you a chance to possibly change your situation? Look, it's pretty simple. You are either going to come with me, or I will just finish what I came here to do. You had a chance to take me out or run for it last night, but you didn't, so that tells me that you are at least curious. If I'm wrong, and you are just playing me? Well, You could fight me and see what happens, but I've seen you fight and I think that that it could go either way. Come with me? I can't promise what will happen next, but it has to be better than dying in an alley in St. Petersburg."

Natasha considered her options. She was very well trained in combat and she felt confident in her skills, but she was sure that he would be as well. Besides, he had all the weapons on his side, his hand resting close to the pillow where he'd stored the guns.

"If I go with you, what assurances do I have that SHIELD will not have someone else just finish your job?"

"I can't make you any promises. I just know that the people I work for are more than capable of seeing the potential hidden behind the mess. I know because I was once the mess that they had to deal with. Really, what do you have to lose? What's it gonna be Natasha? You gonna give up or hang around and see what could be possible?"

After a moment of silence between them, she sighed. "I am going to need something new to wear. I will stand out in this outfit in the middle of the day at the train station."

"Sure. There must be a place around here to get you something more appropriate to wear."

"I also must also have syrniki for breakfast before we go. No one in any other country I have ever visited knows how to properly make it."

"We can do that," Clint chuckled before calling the station and reserving two tickets on the 3:00 train.

Natasha had no idea what her next move was going to be, but for now she'd go along with Clint's plan until a better option presented itself.


	4. Chapter 4

"Damn it," Clint cursed, as he looked up at the ceiling of the abandoned warehouse. He was flat on his back and his whole body was aching. "I think you broke my fucking arm."

"Give me my passport, and I won't hurt you anymore." The voice was coming from somewhere around him, but he couldn't see where she was.

"You know I can't do that, Natasha. I thought we had a deal." Clint lifted his arm and was pleased when he could move it in spite of the pain. There were long scratch marks running along his forearm and his wrist was swelling, but it wasn't as bad as he thought. He managed to sit up and ran his good hand through his hair. "Okay, it might not be broken, but it hurts like hell," he grumbled.

9999999999

The day had gone so well. He disposed of most of his weapons at a drop location outside of his hotel as they left. He wouldn't be able to get them on the train, but SHIELD had a system in place to take care of them. He hated that this left him vulnerable, but it wouldn't be for long.

After a brief stop at a shop down the block to get some more casual clothes for Natasha, they made their way by bus to the train station in St. Petersburg and found a place to get her syrniki, which turned out to be similar to pancakes. Afterward, they boarded the train and found their seats for the three and a half hour ride to Helsinki, Finland.

It was a fairly quiet ride, interrupted only when the conductor came to take their tickets and check their passports. When he was done, Clint took both passports from the man before Natasha could get hers, and put them away in his bag.

"Security," he shrugged when he noticed Natasha watching him with narrowed eyes. Later, she excused herself to go to the bathroom and he moved the passports to the inside pocket of his jacket. He hoped they'd built up a bit of trust at this point, but he wasn't stupid. She was a spy, and from everything he knew about her, she was damn good at what she did. He wasn't going to give her the chance to get away. When she returned, she flipped through a magazine that she picked up in the station and he typed on his Blackberry or pretended to sleep.

Hours passed until finally the scenery outside of their window turned from wild wilderness to urban as they got closer to the city. Natasha put her magazine away and glanced out of the window. "Where will we go when we get to Helsinki?"

"I have to contact a few friends, and we'll have some lunch," he shrugged. "Hopefully it won't be too long."

Once they were off the train, Clint stayed close to her. He knew that she was likely still considering a way to escape, because he would be doing the same thing, calculating the odds of getting away and trying to figure out the best way to make it happen. He still did it in his own head whenever he was in a new situation, and he knew from experience that what she was going through right now was one hell of a new situation.

They found a quiet café where Clint was able to get some truly spectacular coffee as well as lunch for both of them. She sat mostly quiet as he typed furiously into his Blackberry to make arrangements for extraction. He knew that she had to have a lot of questions, but even in a friendly country, she knew better than to ask them in public.

By the time they finished their meal, his Blackberry buzzed with final instructions, and he paid the bill before they headed out to the meet location on the other side of town. It took two Trams, three buses and a two mile walk to make sure they weren't being followed before they finally came to the abandoned warehouse with an open field behind it, where they were to wait for the Quinjet that would pick them up. This wasn't a constantly maintained SHIELD site, so he swept the area, with Natasha in tow, before sending a message acknowledging that it was safe to land.

"Now we wait," Clint shrugged at her as they made their way into the warehouse. He dropped his bag and began poking around at the empty boxes that lined the walls.

"When they come, what will we do?"

"First of all, please hand me the butter knife that you took from the table at lunch." He put his hand out impatiently and waited.

She frowned as she pulled it out of her jacket pocket handed it to him. "You noticed. I'm impressed."

"Yeah, not having any weapons on you will make things go a lot easier. Besides, what are you gonna do with this dull thing anyway?"

"You'd be surprised what I could do with it."

"Probably not," he replied, as he slipped the butter knife in his bag.

"Out of curiosity, if I am attacked, what am I supposed to do with no weapons?"

"You're not supposed to hurt anyone. Besides, I doubt very seriously that you actually need a weapon to defend yourself," he grinned at her. "No one is attacking anyone, though. You just stay behind me. I'll explain everything."

For the first time, he saw something like panic cross her usually calm face. "Explain what? They don't know that I am with you?"

He ran his hand over his face and considered his next words carefully. "Not really. I decided it might be better to catch them off guard and surprise them, rather than tell them, have them get all paranoid and show up with an army."

The only warning he got was loud resigned sigh before her foot crashed into his stomach. His body doubled over involuntarily and he took a knee to the face before she slammed him backward onto the floor. He looked up at her wide eyed and struggled for the breath he needed to speak. "Nat, wait!"

"I didn't avoid being killed in an alley in Russia just to be killed in a warehouse in Finland," she spat out as she grabbed his bag and began rifling through it. "They won't hesitate like you did, Barton. They want me dead. I may hate what I've been doing, but you were right. I don't want to die."

Clint clutched at his stomach and managed to pull himself to a sitting position. He could already taste blood in his mouth. "You're making a huge mistake, Natasha. Just give me a minute."

She glared at him silently before dumping the contents of his bag out on the ground and letting loose a string of curse words in Russian. "Where is my passport?"

He didn't answer her and this time he was ready when she spun around and thrust her foot toward his face. He caught her ankle with his left hand and flipped her over on to the ground. He was on his feet in seconds hovering over her.

"You don't think I'd be stupid enough to leave your passport where you saw me put it, do you? I thought we had an unspoken sort of respect for the skills here." He waved his arm between the two of them. "You're welcome for not breaking your leg."

She was on her feet shockingly fast and rammed her shoulder into his rib cage as she pushed him back hard against the wall, pinning him there with her arm to his throat. For the second time in a few short minutes, he found himself with the wind knocked out of him. "Give me the passport, or I will beat you until you are unconscious and find it myself."

Clint grabbed her arm and although she was strong as hell for a little thing, he managed to pull her away from him. He spun her around and pinned her arm behind her back, making her cry out in pain. "You're not getting the passport, Natasha. We are going to stick to the plan only now we're both going to need a trip to medical."

"Did you tell them you completed your mission?" She was struggling against him, but he just held on tighter.

"I told them that I took care of it. I never said you were dead."

"Maybe I will get lucky and before they kill me, I will get to see them kill you for disobeying an order." Her foot came up and kicked him hard on his upper inner thigh. He groaned loudly as he let her go and she spun around to face him, hands up, ready to strike again.

"Seriously? A few more inches to the right and I would have to tell ..." he stopped and scowled at her. "Just have a little respect for future generations of Barton's, please."

Natasha laughed in spite of herself. "I hope they do not talk as much as the current generation." Once again she swung her fist toward his face and he was just a split second too slow to stop it from making contact with his lip. Blood oozed into his mouth, but he hit back at her, making contact with her own face, her lip bloodied now as well.

"So SHIELD teaches you to hit women, do they?" She moved out of his reach and wiped at the blood on her face.

"When that woman happens to be kicking my ass? Hell yes, they do!"

"Good. I hate to be underestimated." She lunged at him once again. Their arms locked as they pushed at each other, both trying to get the upper hand. Natasha let go to swing at him, and he blocked it with his own hand, before he aimed a kick to her knee that she easily blocked. They went back and forth grabbing, pushing and hitting, as he slowly moved her back toward a stack of boxes. If he hit her just right, he could send her flying into the boxes and possibly hurt her enough to end this, but he really didn't want to take that shot.

"So are we planning to do this for much longer?" he asked, as he blocked yet another kick from her.

"What? Are you getting tired?"

"No. I'm not tired. I'm just thinking about what's going to happen when SHIELD gets here," he shrugged before swinging his arm toward her once again. She grabbed it and used her momentum to flip him around, sending a sharp pain through his wrist and arm, and him falling to the floor. As he fell, he managed to kick her hard in the stomach, sending her flying back out of his sight.

9999999999

Clint made it over to the wall and collapsed against it, still examining his arm. When she appeared standing over him, he looked up at her and held up one finger. "Give me just a minute to rest and we can resume kicking each other's asses if you want."

Sliding down the wall beside him, she looked every bit as exhausted as he felt. Blood was trickling from her mouth as well as a cut above her eye that would probably need stitches. He could see patches of deep blue forming along her arms. She held out her hand. "Passport," she replied weakly.

He reached into his jacket pocket with his good hand and pulled it out. "Here ya go," he shrugged, as her hand closed triumphantly over the little black booklet. "It won't do you any good, though. I had it flagged the minute we were off the train. You try to use that anywhere and you can enjoy the hospitality of the Finnish police until SHIELD sends someone else to deal with you."

"Мудак," she grumbled.

"Now, that word I did learn as a kid," Clint pointed at her and chuckled. "I may be an asshole, but I'm not stupid. Now the question is, are you?"

Natasha sighed and threw the useless passport into the pile of clothes from his bag that she dumped out earlier. "You still want to bring me in after all of this?"

"Yes. Actually I do, even more than before. I'm impressed. You can hang with me in a fight, and I like to think that I am pretty tough."

She reached over and grabbed his hurt arm carefully. "Not so tough," she mused, as he whined loudly when she moved his arm in different directions to inspect it. "I don't think it's broken. You'll live."

"I usually do."

"What makes you think I won't just wait for another time to try and kill you?" She began investigating her own bruises and cuts.

"Because there was a butter knife sitting right there in that bag and you never went for it, even when you had the chance. Tough as you might be, you weren't fighting to kill."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Now you believe I could use the butter knife as a weapon?"

"Oh, I always believed it, never doubted it for a minute. I'm not dumb enough to underestimate a well-trained Russian spy."

"But you're dumb enough to try to recruit one."

"Apparently," he grinned. "Jet should be here any minute. Let's get this stuff picked up and get ready." He scooted over to the pile and began shoving things back in his bag. "When they get here, you let me do the talking, okay?"

Natasha nodded in agreement. "Will they handcuff me?"

"They won't touch you. I'm going to try to convince them not to cuff you, but if they insist, I'll do it and I will stay with you. Look, if you try shit like this again, though, I won't be able to stop what happens. Do you understand?"

"Yes. But if I'm attacked…."

He cocked his head to the side and gave her a bloody grin. "They'll have to go through me first."


End file.
